There are times I lament the easy access to porn. Our phones and laptops give us instant gratification to all our fantasies in the privacy of our homes or bedrooms. There’s no effort involved, no sense of achievement. No investment in our sexuality.
Like many of my generation, my earliest memories of porn are buying top-shelf magazines from a local newsagent. As I examined what was on offer, I hoped they wouldn’t recognise me, or ask my age. There was a thrill to the dare that infused the cheesy poses of women in stockings and suspenders with its excitement.
Enter the sex shop
A little later came the sex shop. I had to drive for an hour each way, planning trips to coincide with weekday holidays when the streets would be quieter. Sometimes I’d pass the shop three or four times, heart pounding in my ears as I summoned the courage to step inside.
Beyond that darkened door were treats unimaginable. Magazines covering every fetish and fantasy my young mind could dream up, and plenty I couldn’t. Sometimes the content was so “extreme” small stickers were placed on photographs to hide acts deemed “obscene”. They’re commonplace on today’s websites.
Bondage discovered
Then came the fateful day I discovered “bondage”. I’d seen pictures of women in handcuffs and tied with rope, but they were always passing shots. This was different.
It wasn’t Google or PornHub who introduced me to bondage. It was the owner of a sex shop I’d gone to a couple of times. He asked if I wanted something “a bit harder.”
I can’t remember the title, just that it blew me away. Endless pictures of women tied up. Not supermodels, but women I might meet on the street. My fixation with Samantha Fox and the “Page 3 Girls” gave way to Sarah Foster-Tate, Sharon Beacon, Darla Crane and the many others Harmony Concepts offered in their pages. To this day when I play bondage games, Harmony’s ideal of “Love Bondage” is rarely far from my mind.
Leading up to the internet explosion
My exploration was gradual. Fantasies evolved steadily as my collection expanded. Each bought in person, acquired after asking if they had something on the shelves (or not, as the case might be). Each had that thrill of waiting for the crowds to clear before ducking into a sex shop ingrained in its paper pages. Money changed hands. Real paper money with pictures of the Queen smiling approvingly as I handed them over.
By the time I got my first internet connection, I had over two dozen magazines. Compare that to the thousands, tens of thousands, of photos and videos in the typical digital collection. All saved with a right click and shuffled onto backup drives, never to be seen again.
Our youth are missing out
Maybe we should compel our youth to buy porn the way we did, at least for a couple of years. Let them experience the limits and excitement of venturing into a sex shop. Of having to interact with someone as they hand over cash. Make them feel their purchase. Re-establish the connection between the physical world and our fantasy one. Savour the few pages of porn they can afford each month.
Of course, this is just an old pervert wallowing in nostalgia. The world has moved on, and we must move with it. Easy access to porn has been liberating for many, though not without its problems. The waves of conservative clamp downs are doing little to repress an innate desire to explore our sexuality and fantasies.
Yet I can’t help feeling those who’ve only downloaded their porn have missed out on something special. By the time they realise it too, I fear it will be too late.
